


paint my outline with your thoughts

by kinaesthetique



Series: define the inbetween [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Gender Exploration, Nonbinary Character, Other, gender euphoria
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-03 20:12:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19471327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinaesthetique/pseuds/kinaesthetique
Summary: Fareeha is Fareeha is Fareeha.Even when they are less than sure of themselves.---A short triptych of Fareeha interacting with others' perceptions of their gender.





	paint my outline with your thoughts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [acl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/acl/gifts).



> "I live for 'i can't tell whether you're a girl or a boy' GOOD" a quote from my nibling, acl. this one's for you! <3
> 
> I was reminded of this series and how much I love it a few months back and thought I'd finally come back to the sequel I'd started way back when. This is, of course, not canon.
> 
> As always, please read the tags and enjoy!

“Excuse me?” Fareeha looks to their left and then down at a young child in front of the butter. The two 6-packs of bagels she’s holding are half her size; she cradles them in one arm and holds a tub of cream cheese in the other. Her wide brown eyes stare up at Fareeha, patiently waiting for a response. 

Fareeha, to their credit, does not drop either of the 4-pack or 8-pack of margarine they are holding. When the interruption came about, they’d been debating the merits of each pack in regard to Angela’s future baking adventures. They pause, blinking owlishly at the child until it truly becomes clear that they are indeed being spoken to.

“Hello there. Have you lost your parents?” They smile kindly, ready to crouch down and comfort if needed. To their surprise, the little girl shakes her head, braids swinging back and forth.

“No, but I want to ask you a question. My name’s Amaya and I’m in the 3rd grade and my moms and my teachers always tell me I should ask questions if I don’t understand something.” Here she pauses. “Or someone.”

Fareeha maintains their gentle smile and says, “That’s very good advice.” 

They do not, out of politeness, inquire about whether Amaya has learned the age-old advice of not speaking to strangers in the dairy section of the supermarket.

Amaya beams. “So may I ask you a question?”

“Yes, you may.”

The young child shuffles down closer and beckons for Fareeha’s ear. They bend down a bit and listen to the whispered words: “Are you pretty or handsome? Because I told my mom you're pretty and she said you might not like that. But I think you’re really pretty.”

 _Well_ , Fareeha thinks, _that’s one way I’ve never heard that_.

“I think I’m very pretty,” Fareeha says, humming thoughtfully. “But there’s a lot of days that I think I’m really handsome, too. And some days, I feel both.”

Amaya nods excitedly. “Do you call yourself pretty handsome on those days?”

That startles a laugh out of Fareeha.

“You know, I hadn’t thought of it like that. But now that you’ve suggested that, I think I will.”

“ _Amaya!”_ A young woman, with the same wide nose and bushy eyebrows as Amaya’s, jogs over. She shifts her basket to one arm and places the other around Amaya’s shoulder. “I am _so_ sorry! She’s usually better about getting to point A and back.”

Fareeha raises a hand in a placating gesture. “She’s fine. She’s very polite.”

“Mom, I was just _chatting!_ ” Amaya dumps the bagels into her mom’s basket. “Thank you for answering my question!”

Fareeha waves with her still-raised hand as Amaya is dragged away by her mother.

“—said that,” Amaya chatters excitedly to her mom. “—could be pretty _and_ handsome!”

 _She doesn’t mean it,_ Fareeha thinks to themselves as the wrong pronoun grates across their ears like static. _She doesn’t know any better._

Fareeha puts the 4-pack of butter back and checks the list Angela wrote. They focus on getting the eggs and the cute revelation that Amaya gave them.

_Pretty handsome, hm?_

* * *

Even months after they started dating, Fareeha always wonders how Angela is able to see them. Angela sees the real person that Fareeha is, in a way no other partner has. Angela knows who Fareeha is. Angela never makes Fareeha feel like they had to hide from her. That’s an allowance they give each other. Thus, Fareeha doesn’t feel too bad about starting their conversation like this right after they return from grocering.

“Weird question,” Fareeha starts, handing Angela a glass bottle of strawberry lemonade. Her eyes widen with joy, following the beverage to where Fareeha places it on her desk. She stretches up for a gentle kiss and Fareeha bends down so she can reach their lips.

Angela’s lips are soft, as usual. Fareeha loses their train of thought in favor of that observation.

“You always know just what I need,” Angela chirps, grabbing the bottle and draining half of it. Fareeha waits for her to wipe her mouth before they continue.

“So, weird question?”

“Yes, sorry, go on!”

“A little kid asked me something while I was shopping. She asked if I was pretty or handsome.”

Angela leans forward on her elbows, eyebrows raised. “That sounds like the beginning of a cute story?”

“Yeah, it is. I said either and sometimes both? And then she asked if I call myself ‘pretty handsome’ when that happens?” Fareeha sinks into Angela’s client chair and sighs. “It just made me remember how many boxes there are.”

Angela reaches across the desk and grabs Fareeha’s hand. “She sounds very sweet.”

“She was! I just wish I had a better answer! Most of the time, I just know where I _don’t_ fit. That’s not the same as knowing where I do.” Fareeha squeezes Angela’s hand and takes a deep breath. “I was wondering... is it okay if sometimes the only place I know I fit, is with you?”

“You have the sweetest way of asking questions you already know the answer to.” Angela reaches out with her other hand and strokes Fareeha’s face. “You know there’s a you-shaped space in my heart.”

“That sounds like a cardiac anomaly, doctor,” Fareeha says with a grin. “You sure you feel alright?”

Angela sticks her tongue out. “I’ve never felt better.”

* * *

Most days, Fareeha exists in the huge nebulous space between woman and man. They have lived with the knowledge of this for almost as long as they’ve been alive and it tends to not bother them anymore. Most days, there are more important things in life than worrying about exactly where they fit on the continuum. Things like fighting to stay alive during firefights or avoiding Interpol presence tend to take precedence.

But there are still some days that are a bit special. They wake up, stretch and know how they feel immediately. There’s no dysphoria, just an inclination for a certain presentation. It’s a rare joy for them to get dressed without worrying about the effect it’ll have later in the day.

This is one such day.

Fareeha wakes quickly, as they tend to do. Angela is a soft warmth in their arms, murmuring when they press a kiss to her forehead. They hop out of bed and grab their workout gear, only pausing to grab a sports binder from their drawer. In minutes, they’re jogging out of the Watchpoint and down to the beach. Fareeha runs close to the shore, enjoying the feeling of wet sand on bare feet, the lapping of the surf against their ankles. They run for an hour or so, then return to their room. Angela’s already up and out, so they have the shower to themselves.

Even the usual annoyance of the shower doesn’t damper their spirits. In no time, they’re dressed in a binder, button up, t-shirt and straight jeans.

The kitchen is mostly empty when Fareeha arrives, intent on a protein shake and a couple of scrambled eggs.

Amélie greets them with a quiet “bonjour”. Fareeha’s too caught up in their own good mood to bother aiming any vitriol toward the former Talon sniper. It may have been her hand that pulled the trigger on their mother, but she didn’t force Ana to fake her death or to wait months before informing Fareeha of that fact either.

Fareeha is almost out of the kitchen with breakfast when a quiet _ahem_ stops them in their tracks.

“Amari.”

“Yes?” Fareeha turns slightly. The former Widowmaker stirs her cereal before speaking again.

“If you… are a man or a woman,” Her voice is carefully devoid of emotion but when she looks up, her golden eyes crinkle with confusion. “Then I can never tell.”

Fareeha pauses, wary as they work out the meaning of that statement. “Well, that makes two of us.” 

“You seem… pleased by that.” Amélie sounds genuinely surprised and curious. Fareeha feels themselves relaxing.

“I mean, I _live_ for that.” They look down at their food, then back up to the lone woman at the table. “Did you want to uh, talk about it?”

Amélie nods and Fareeha takes a seat across the kitchen island. It’s a moment before Amélie says anything else.

“How do you first know?”

Fareeha chuckles. “That’s a good question…”

It’s surprising, even to themselves, but for once, Fareeha has an answer to give.


End file.
